


it's midnight, somewhere

by frozenburritos



Category: Oxenfree
Genre: Creepy, M/M, One Shot, and changing my writing style to accommodate for that, i'm working on getting a feel for the atmosphere, this shit is weird sorry, weed beanies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenburritos/pseuds/frozenburritos
Summary: creepy gas station antics with our favorite boys(i swear to god it's kind of good i just can't write abstracts for shit)





	it's midnight, somewhere

Jonas turns off his car with a flick of his wrist, extracting the key from the ignition. The radio dins on for a moment until the car shuts off completely, leaving the two boys in silence. 

It’s Ren who makes the first move, of course, turning his head to face the boy in the seat next to him. His face is concrete, gently stoic, unreadable.

“Are we going in anytime soon?” his voice cracks halfway through from nerves, Jonas either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. He nods, cold expression remaining as he reaches for Ren’s hand, drawing it to his mouth and kissing the cold knuckles softly. 

“We don’t have a choice,” he punctuates the sentence with a laugh, but his tone isn’t light. Cautiously, Ren reaches for the car door, hesitating slightly when Jonas breathes a near inaudible “I love you.”

As soon as the door is open Jonas rushes for his, both of the boys meeting up at the hood of the car as quickly as possible. The light buzz of neon stings their ears, deafeningly loud with their heightened senses. The dark seems to close in on all sides, their only solace in the warmth of their bumping shoulders. Jonas double, triple, quadruple checks that the car is locked before the two venture into the gas station, eerily in sync as they walk up to the automatic double doors. Static electricity passes through the hands hanging idly at their sides, but Jonas doesn’t dare make the leap to grab Ren’s hand, just in case. He’s not quite sure what state they’re in, but with the smell of growing corn on every passing breeze, he’s not sure he wants to risk anything. 

A soft _ding_ alerts any cashiers of their entrance. The artificial white light burns their eyes, what seems like four security cameras trained on them at once. Besides the man idling behind the counter, they seem to be the only living things in the building. In the washed out light, everything is plastic, even the meager fruit basket near the checkout resembling Barbie food.

Jonas takes a few wary steps toward the coolers in the back of the store, reigning in on the idea of restocking supplies for their road trip. Ren shadows him closely, a lost puppy in the dark night. He grabs a couple jugs of water, stockpiling so they can hold off on another experience like this one. 

He’s less nervous as he rounds the corner for the aisle containing camping equipment. Being in the store for a moment has given him a bit of confidence, eyes scanning the rows of items. Over and over he checks out the provisions, noticing the empty row only after the third pass over. Every battery slot is empty, prices on stickers half scratched out to reveal the metal backing beneath. Glancing over, he notices the matches gone, as well as all the flint and steel. This middle of nowhere gas station is the only light source for miles. 

“I have a bad feeling about - you know - about the cashier,” Ren whispers into Jonas’s ear, mouth barely moving. His protective instinct kicks in then, more rational thoughts about saving his own ass be damned. An arm reaches out to gently herd Ren behind him, out of view of the man. Jonas waits a beat, pretending to be interested in the shelves in front of him. As soon as he thinks they’re in the clear his eyes shoot up to get a look at the figure behind the counter. He’s looking down now, interested in the patterned formica. From what Jonas can tell he seems about early twenties, just a bit older than them, greasy blond hair in wet curls around his face. When he looks up, Jonas’s heart almost stops. His eyes are black, sclera and all, until he blinks, darkness retreating to his irises. The jugs in Jonas’s arms are growing heavy, he’s so tired. 

Ren seemed to notice his loss of energy, lifting one of the weights from his hands. Too unnerved to do much else, he locks eyes with Ren, an unspoken apology and expression of gratitude at once. They’ve been together long enough for Ren to understand, nodding his head once and stepping even closer to Jonas. The ever present smell of smoke on his jacket grounds him to where they are, to what they’re doing. 

In a sore attempt at looking casual, Jonas grabs a bag of chips from an endcap as he casually strolls up to the front counter, exhaling slightly when he notices the lighters by checkout. Tossing one between them as offhandedly as he can, he finds it in him to nod at the cashier. He can feel Ren’s fingers as they curl into one of his belt loops, hoping silently that the worker isn’t paying enough attention to notice what he’s doing. 

He wishes he’d checked the clock on the dashboard before they’d come in, it feels like it’s been hours and Jonas can swear he can see the sun rising in the window behind the till. 

“Sir?” when he hears the croak of a voice he’s drawn back to reality. 

“Wh- yeah?” he stutters out, clearing his throat after. His eyes had wandered to the name tag on the worker’s chest. It says Nate, but the edges of it are blurred, and Jonas’s eyes aren’t in focus anymore. 

“I said would you like a bag of ice with that?” There’s no way to describe the noise that’s coming out of his mouth as anything but throaty, scratching to get out, a harsh whisper, a scream and a breeze all at once. 

“No, we’re good,” Jonas holds out one hand, a crumpled ten wrapped around the chipped black paint on his fingernails that he’s suddenly rethinking. 

With a strangely mechanical nod, the bill is accepted, and change is being put back in his hand. For a moment, their skin bumps together, and Jonas could swear his entire figure glitched a few inches to the right. With one last nod from the being in front of him, he’s being sent off, coming back to earth when Ren withdraws his hand from behind him, shared heat gone. 

The pair act as naturally as they can, making their way back to the sliding doors that had admitted them to the space, and Jonas can’t help but glance back at the cashier. 

His lips are pulled up in a crude impression of a smile, rows upon rows of off white razors bared and cutting into the skin around his mouth. Something snaps in the atmosphere, Jonas’s world tipping off balance with his final few steps out of the building. Once they’ve reached the outside air, Ren takes a deep breath, cracking a small grin to the boy at his side. 

“Race you to the car?” 

Unable to say no to the ridiculous offer - the car is just feet from their location - Jonas agrees, the feeling of eyes still burning into his back. 

He laughs lightly as they both make it to the car safely, starting it up again. Music starts up quietly, drowning out the ever-present drone of light in front of them. Ren is rambling about how strange it was in there, how cold he felt, something about the floor tiles not being the same size, as Jonas glances out his window. The sky is dark as pitch, as it should be, but he still can’t breathe. 

Jonas has never felt more relieved than he does pulling out of the parking lot, refusing to look back or glance in his mirrors. Ten, twenty, fifty miles pass before Ren starts protesting that they stop. A glance at the clock reveals that it’s 4 AM on the dot, the end of witching hour. While Jonas has never been a superstitious person, that seems like a good omen. Slowing the car to a stop, Jonas pulls off the side of the road, onto a shoulder of dirt without any other tire tracks, a fact Ren feels compelled to mention.

Just moments later the two are comfortably situated in the back of Jonas’s beat up SUV. Jonas’s mind has slowed at last from its previous pace of eighty miles a minute, allowing him to slide back the cover on the sunroof, short term thinking blocking him from realizing he’ll wake up with a sunburn. Ren is fast asleep by the time Jonas lays down next to him, clicking off the final light in the car. His eyes are open for a moment, staring up at two bright stars through the sunroof, eyebrows coming together as he watches a reflective crescent appear below, rows upon rows of razors not feet above his head. 

“Race you to the car?”

**Author's Note:**

> so that's my attempt at trying to write an atmosphere thank you for spending time on this little experiment.


End file.
